


2doc Week

by supposed2bfunny



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, 2doc week, M/M, niccalpot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny
Summary: My daily submissions for the 2018 2doc week on Tumblr. Seven short, unrelated ficlets following various prompts about everybody's favorite blue-haired black-eyed angel and his gross pickle boyfriend.





	1. My Boyfriend is in Jail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been edited slightly from its original publication on Tumblr to indicate that in the U.K., prisoners and visitors are separated by plexiglass and do not get to touch. Guess I'll have to do better research next time I post something *shrug emoji*

Day 1-My boyfriend is in jail.

“Anyway,” Stu continued, “Russel’s doing good. He’s gotten really into cars lately, so he’s been going to shows in London as often as possible. he took me to a couple. Really nice vintage stuff, at this one, they had an Aston Martin what like Paul McCartney used to drive! Same color and everything…Muds?”

“You going to talk about Ace at all?” Murdoc sneered from behind the glass that separated inmates from guests in the county prison. The dark circles under his eyes revealed how little sleep he’d gotten in the past few days. He hunched forward over his side of the table, phone pressed into the crook of his neck. “About how that greasy-haired ponce is stealing the hearts of my fans? Have you sucked his cock yet, sunshine?”

“Oh, fuck off,” the singer scoffed, narrowing his eyes. He’d known this fight was coming, though he’d prayed that Murdoc would allow them to have a peaceful visit without bringing up the elephant in the room. “You know full well it isn’t like that. Can you just enjoy the half hour we get to spend together instead of griping about the shit you can’t control? Or would you rather the band fall apart ‘cause you’re in prison again, and let everyone forget all about the music we spent months recording? Is that what your prideful arse would prefer?”

Murdoc’s nails scraped the table before him as his cuffed hands clenched into fists. There was a dangerous spark in his eyes, a brightness that Stu had only ever seen in the very feverish or the very high. In Murdoc, it indicated the flaring of a temper that, once unleashed, would wreak total chaos in the gray-walled visitation center of the prison. But Murdoc was banking on getting out soon with good behavior. He was aware of the burly guard with night stick ready at his belt watching the inmates and their guests. And he was aware of just how humiliating it was to be pinned down by a cop in front of a group of strangers. So he took a deep breath, tipped his head to the side, cracked his neck, and dropped his hands into his lap, using every fiber of strength in his body to stay calm. Seeing his struggle, Stu followed his lead, smoothing the lines on his own forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

They both said it at the same time, and Stu grinned, feeling that familiar tug of protective affection he felt towards Murdoc even when the bassist was wearing his patience away. 

“You never used to apologize for your temper.”

“Yeah, and look where that’s landed me.”

“We can talk about the video if you want to, but I know you’ve been on the phone with Jamie about it.”

“I hate that pompous fucker–”

“Muds,”

"Yeah, we don’t have to talk about it. I guess I just…” he shrugged. “No one cares. I get replaced from my own band, and our fans are embracing Ace like he’s a fuckin’ legend. He’s not even that talented!”

“He’s not,” the singer agreed. “You could play circles around him. You’re a lot sexier too.”

“Right! He’s always wearing those groddy sunglasses with fingerprints all over the lenses!”

“It’s a wonder the ponce can see.”

Murdoc actually cracked a smile. “Bloody right you are! And he could use a haircut!”

“I prefer my bassists with moptops,” Stu agreed. “And a mouth that gets me hard just by smiling.”

The bassist paused, eyebrows shooting up into his fringe at the vulgar words and the bold flirtation. Then he reached across the table, pressing his hands against the glass, desperate for even a semblance of touching his boyfriend. Stu placed his hands against his side of the glass as well. “When I get out of here bluebird, I’m gonna suck your soul out through your dick." 

Stu snorted. "Miss you so much, lover.”

“Thanks for making me smile,” he spoke around a nasally chuckle. “I know I’ve been getting depressed and nasty to be around.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assured.

“Hey, Niccals, you’ve got five minutes left. Wrap it up,” called one of the guards, signaling that their weekly date was all but over.

“Shit,” Murdoc groaned.

“It’s okay, I’ll be here same time, same place next week,” Stu promised with a wink.

“If you haven’t fallen for Ace by then.”

“C'mon Muds. I know I look spry and sexy in that video, but I ain’t a spring chicken anymore. I have one love in my life, and that’s you. Don’t lose hope okay? You’ll be out of here soon, and we’ll promote this album as a reunited band. Can’t wait to have you there with me.”

It felt like it had only been a matter of seconds before a guard came over to walk Stu back to the check-out area. They locked eyes meaningfully, but there was nothing else to do but wave goodbye. The singer's chest felt tight with how desperately he wanted to wrap his arms around the older man, whose fingers clung to the phone so tight it looked like he might break it.

“Hang in there.”

“I love you, Dents.”

The singer gave his boyfriend one more wide, gap-toothed grin, and then hung up the phone, leaving Murdoc in his orange jumpsuit to wait another week for their next visit. He made polite small talk with the receptionist as he collected his wallet and keys from the front desk and headed back to his car, where the roller blades Jamie had given him for Humility sat in the passenger seat. Stu placed his key in the ignition, started the engine, and promptly dropped his head onto the steering wheel as the tears came. It was too much, being separated from Murdoc all the time, to see him in such a miserable state, to be moving forward musically without him. And even though none of this was his fault, the guilt was crushing.

After he’d cried it out, he sat up straight and wiped his eyes, turning to the roller blades. Learning to skate had been a fun distraction, and it was now an activity he turned to whenever life felt like too much. 

“Reset myself and get back on track,” he breathed. He could do this. For Murdoc. For himself. For them.


	2. Personality Swap AU

Day 2-Personality Swap AU

 

2D placed a cigarette between his lips and fiddled around his trouser pocket for his lighter. “Oi Russ, Noods. Me an’ faceache’ll be right back.”

“Really, Dee?” Russel asked, looking exasperated. “The interview starts in ten minutes. Don’t wander off okay?”

The singer scoffed. “Relax, just need a smoke. Right, dullard?” Beside him, Murdoc nodded. “We’ll be back in a flash.“

Before the drummer could argue, the blue-haired man grabbed Murdoc’s arm and practically dragged him out of the café where they were meeting a reporter from Jukebox Magazine to discuss their upcoming album. The taller man looked around and headed down a nearby ally that gave them at least a little bit of privacy.

“Okay, so what’s so urgent that you suddenly decided that you needed to talk to me before the interview?” The singer asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep pull of nicotine.

“Sorry, Stu,” the bassist mumbled, keeping his eyes down and picking at a hangnail on one of his fingers. “It’s um, sort of a stupid question I have, really.”

“’Course it is; that’s the only kind you ever ask me. But go ahead, doll.”

“Um. Well,” Murdoc looked up at him and smiled nervously, and 2D fought the urge to smile back; his bassist really was gorgeous, especially with his spooky mismatched eyes. But he had to look tough and play cool, so he exhaled a ring of smoke instead. “This is our first interview since er…well, y’know.”

He really didn’t. “Since what? Can you hurry this along, Murdoc? We have an interview to do and after that, I am in desperate need of a drink.”

The shorter man sighed. “Fine. Well, this is our first interview since you and I have become…since we’ve started seeing each other.”

2D choked slightly on his next pull, and he coughed, holding up a hand to keep Murdoc from leaning in close to check if he was all right. “So?” he asked. “What does what we do in a bedroom have to do with an interview with a magazine?”

“I guess I wanted to check with you whether or not that’s something you wanna talk about with the reporter. Like do we announce it?” Murdoc asked, cocking his head to the side like a child.

“No!” 2D spat. “Of course we don’t bloody announce it! You really think I’m gonna broadcast to the world that I shagged you? The bassist of my band? I have an image as a lady killer and I don’t need it tarnished by you of all people.

Murdoc frowned, clearly hurt. “I was just asking. If you’re too afraid of coming out publicly, I totally understand. I just wanted to know because…it might be hard for me to not gush about it.”

“You think you’re gonna gush? About having seen me naked? Grow up, faceache.” 2D shook his head, agitated and a little embarrassed if he was being honest. Why Murdoc would feel the need to brag about having been intimate with a cold prick like himself was a mystery.

“Well I just mean, y’know. I…I’ve liked you for a long time now, Stu. I told you that last night. I’ve always sort of fancied you. But if you don’t want us going public,” he clenched his fists in a cartoonish paroxysm of determination, “then I won’t say a thing about it. Y’got my word!”

2D ruffled the man’s hair. “There’s a good love,” he said with a gruff chuckle. “We should probably go inside before the fatass has a fuckin’ conniption.”

“Right.”

“But first,” the singer said, looking around to make sure no one was walking by on the street. Satisfied that they were alone, he leaned in, pinning Murdoc against the wall of the café and kissing him. The smaller man gasped against his mouth, then kissed back eagerly, allowing 2D’s tongue to slip past his lips.

The singer pulled back after a moment, paranoid that someone would walk by and see them. “Let’s get back inside, blackbird.”

“Okay,” Murdoc agreed, smiling and flushed.

Seated in the café minutes later, the band opened up about their music, their upcoming album and plans to tour the U.K., and who they hoped to collaborate with.

“Now my next question is actually less about your upcoming album and more about what brought you all together in the first place,” said the reporter, a handsome young man with thick glasses and snakebite piercings. “A drummer from Brooklyn, a little girl guitarist from Japan, and two British blokes from lower middle class families. How did you all come together to form Gorillaz?”

“Really, it came together because I willed it to come together,” 2D said, leaning back and stretching his long arms above his head, exposing the many tattoos that ran up and down them. “See, the most interesting thing really is how I brought everyone into the band with my musical talent and some incredible luck.” Noodle blew a raspberry to show how much she disagreed with his opinion, and Russel rolled his eyes but said nothing. The reporter took the bait.

“And how did that happen?”

“You’ve got to understand this,” he said, clapping his hands together. 2D was always most comfortable when he was bragging about himself. “I knew from the time I was a kid that I had incredible musical talent. I could sing and play keyboard at the time when most kids in my class were still picking their noses. But Crawley wasn’t ready for my genius, and I had an incredibly dull upbringing, I was practically crawling out of my skin in boredom. That’s how I became interested in Satanism—”

“I don’t really know if that needs to go in the article—”

“Of course it does! It’s the most interesting bit! So you see, I was practicing Satanism. Nothing crazy, but more than most poor losers in my hometown were doing, that’s for sure. One day, I cast a spell to summon a troll, and ended up dying my hair blue. See this? I was born a bruntette I swear!”

“You’re telling me that you cast some sort of dark magic spell…and that’s why your hair is blue?” The reporter look from his recorder to the singer, and then to the other members of the band. They shrugged at him, helpless.

“That’s right, glad you’re keeping up,” he said. “So one day, I’m working at my Uncle Norm’s keyboard shop, drawing sigils and practicing spells, when suddenly faceache over here walks in, all quiet-like.”

By this part of the story, Murdoc sank back a little in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. 2D continued on, oblivious to his bandmate’s body language. “Well, I didn’t pay him much mind, until suddenly I realized that he had pocketed some electric tuners that we keep up in the front of the store. He just shoved them under his jacket and dashed out! I wasn’t gonna let the little ponce get away with that, so I grabbed the keys to my uncle’s truck and took off after him. The dullard had come on foot and was running as fast as he could down the street, so I hopped in the truck and raced off after him. Only thing is, I didn’t have a license or a permit or whatever it is you’re supposed to get in order to drive, you feel me?”

“Can we keep that off record?” Russel asked. The reporter smiled ambiguously at him.

“And I ended up crashing right into Murdoc! Knocked him right down under the truck. It’s a damn miracle he wasn’t crushed under the wheels! He got out with a minor concussion, and because his head was hit, a blood vessel burst in his eye, filled his right iris with blood. His nose was also crushed pretty bad, as you can tell. It’s crooked to this day, but at the time, it was also gushing blood. I stopped the truck and ran out to laugh at the dullard. He crawled out from under the truck, shaking and apologizing, begging me to let him go, not to call the cops for stealing.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Murdoc groaned, covering his face in both hands. But he knew better than to try and interrupt 2D when he was on a roll, telling his story.

“Turns out Murdoc lived at home with an abusive, alcoholic prick of a father. He was hoping to sell the stolen tuners for parts to get his own flat and escape his old man. Well, his story and his pluck really spoke to me. And his fucking face! With blood dripping down his nose and one red eye like the villain in some sort of movie, I knew he’d be perfect for my band! He’d fit the role of the moody, dark-haired bassist that every band needs, right? The best part? He could already play bass! It was like I’d been handed a personalized gift for my band. Frankly, I took this as a sign that Satan himself approved of my destiny. That’s the only word for it, really. Destiny.”

“Is all this really true?” The reporter interrupted dubiously. “You wanted him to be the bassist of your nonexistent band and he just so happened to play?”

“I really did know how to play,” Murdoc answered. “My bass was the only prized possession I owned, the one thing I had in the world at that time. I wanted to run away from home and become a musician, that’s why I was um…” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why I was stealing. To see this cool, tall guy who’s uncle owned a music shop offer me to join his band seemed too good to be true.”

“But I did ask him to join,” 2D said proudly. “Showed him some of the songs I’d already written, and he thought they were really good. My dad leant me some money and we got a flat where he could start writing songs together and auditioning guitarists and drummers, and that’s how the magic was born.”

Underneath the table, 2D’s hand found Murdoc’s thigh and squeezed it lightly. The bassist bit his lower lip but remained silent, daring only one quick glance in the singer’s direction. 2D caught his gaze and smiled. It was an assurance. Those early days in the band were behind them, but the promise 2D had made back then resonated with them both still. Murdoc had never stepped foot back into his abusive father’s home. His singer, his bandleader his…maybe boyfriend…had made sure of that.

“So if you think that’s a cool story, wait until how we found Russel!” 2D continued, sitting forward in excitement. “The story of my band’s conception has only just begun!”


	3. Sleeping In

Day 3-Sleeping In

Murdoc Niccals was not a man who asked for things: he took what he wanted.

He’d fought his way to the top of the music industry, stolen whatever it took to build his band, kidnapped Russel, practically kidnapped 2D from his family after knocking him into and out of a coma. He helped himself to whatever drugs and booze life had to offer, and claimed for his own anything that he came across and fancied, because he knew that it was what he deserved.

But he found himself one morning in a situation where he wanted something that couldn’t be taken—and he had no idea how to ask for it.

He was tangled up in bed with Stu, their legs intertwined, the smooth skin of Stu’s back warm and soft against his chest, blue strands of hair tickling face. It was a rare morning where they had nothing to do and nowhere to be, and they had decided to savor their lazy day by staying in bed.

On calm days like this, Stu and Murdoc could talk for hours about nothing in particular, usually with Stu prompting Murdoc to discuss anything from childhood anecdotes to his philosophy on the meaning of life and happiness. The singer preferred to listen to Murdoc, to watch him speak as animatedly as he could in his drowsy state, and to drink in his words. These rare moments, the bassist exposed parts of himself he had never permitted anyone else to see.

He had just wrapped up a story about his father, about the anxiety of living in a household where any mistake could lead to a verbal blowout, and how it had taken Murdoc years to learn to handle expectations without experiencing severe paranoia and fear.

Even as he stopped talking and Stu smoked in silence, the memories of his childhood continued to wash over the older man, and he clung to his boyfriend a little tighter, relieved that life had worked out in spite of its rocky start.

It dawned on him that he would love to be held securely for a moment.

In the years of their sporadic and then consistent fucking—and eventually agreeing to define their relationship, the couple had always had one tradition: after coitus and conversation, Stu would be the little spoon, content to sleep or sing to himself in the arms of his lover.

Murdoc had always been fine with that; he had set the precedent after all by holding the singer even though he was usually not cuddly with his lovers. He made it clear that his little bluebird was an exception to that rule. Frankly, he had very little experience with physical affection, and while he loved the way Stu clung to him when they were passionate, he never expected the gesture to extend outside of their more torrid interactions.

This morning, the idea passed though his head, and he absolutely ached to be held.

But in over three decades of his rock star existence, he’d never asked anyone for such a thing.

“You still awake, sunshine?” He asked. It was a stupid question; he could clearly see that the younger man was smoking. But conversation might lead to a way to get what he wanted. Plus he always spoke to Stu when he was nervous.

“Yeah,” the singer said. “Want a light?”

“Mm, no thanks. I’m good.”

“’Kay.”

Stu offered no further feedback, continuing to stare into space, inhale his smoke, and eventually rub his foot against Murdoc’s ankle.

“You got any other questions for me, bluebird? What do you want to talk about?”

The man stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on his side of the bed and stretched his arms up over his head. His one shoulder cracked, and Murdoc pressed his lips to it.

“Can’t think of anything,” he admitted. “Did you have anything you wanted to talk about? I’m just enjoying being here with you. Feels like it’s been ages since we’ve had a morning to just lie in together.”

“I’m enjoying it too,” Murdoc said. “Though maybe there’s something we’re missing.”

Stu was silent for a second, then rocked his ass back slightly, pressing it against the front of Murdoc’s briefs. “You’re not hard. Not looking for a go are you?” He rolled over to face the bassist, one arm automatically coming to rest on his upper arm affectionately.

“No,” Murdoc rolled onto his back, suddenly fidgety and embarrassed to be touched by the singer. With Stu’s black eyes on him, he was aware of how desperate and pathetic he looked, and he hated it. He felt like some needy teenager, all emotional and asking for things that grown men would never dare ask for. Best to abort the mission, lest his bluebird realize what a sod he was being. “I like talking to you, that’s all.”

“Aw, Muds. I like it too.” He smiled then, and Murdoc felt himself fall in love for the millionth time since meeting him. The late morning sunlight that streamed in through the room hit his eyes, and the bassist could make out the reddish tint of his pupils. It was an eerie look, but it suited the singer, and it made it all the more clear that he was looking directly at Murdoc was he grinned, the gap from his missing front teeth visible, and loose strands of hair framing his forehead so beautifully.

Fuck it, he though. Here goes nothing. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“I can tell something’s on your mind,” the younger man responded. “Of course, Muds. Anything. What’s up?”

“Was wondering if we could switch things up. If you and I, if you rather…maybe I could, if you don’t mind that is, uh, hm. Let me find the words.”

He only ceased rambling because the singer reached up to trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone, slim finger following it up to his fringe, then brushing his hair out of his face. Murdoc watched, entranced as Stu continued to watch his face for cues as to what was going on inside his twisted, dreadful mind. His pink lips turned up in a gentle grin. “Go ahead,” he said. “Just ask me whatever it is, Muds. I ain’t gonna judge you or laugh.”

Swallowing his pride, he nodded. “D’you think I could be the er…little spoon for a bit? Just for today. Just for a few minutes.”

The young man broke his promise then, laughing lightly. That bright, soft noise he made when he was amused. It was like hearing wedding bells from a distance.

“That’s all you wanted to ask? Really?”

Murdoc brushed his fringe back over his eyes, utterly mortified. “Yeah. Pretty dumb, I know. We don’t have to. Why don’t we just go back to what we were doing?”

“No way,” Stu said, sitting up on his elbows. “I’d love to hold you and be the big spoon. Roll onto your side for me, okay?”

“If you think I’m a total git, just tell me.”

“I think you’re a git for a lot of reasons, Murdoc, but not for this.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now shut up and let me hold you, okay? I never get to do it and I’m not missing this chance.”

Murdoc obediently rolled onto his side, feeling a little strange deliberately showing his back to the singer. Any fears were quelled instantly when he felt his boyfriend scoot up right against him, re-tangling their legs and looping an arm securely around his middle. The settled into each other, bodies melting together in comfort.

“This what you had in mind?” The younger man asked, kissing the back of the bassist’s neck.

“Mhm. Feels even nicer than I’d thought it would.”

“And it makes sense for me to be the big spoon ‘cause I’m taller!”

“Right, right, don’t rub it in, you ponce.”

“Hey Muds?”

“What is it, bluebird?”

“I love getting to hold you like this,” he said softly, lips against the bassist’s ear. “And I love you. So fucking much. Have I told you that recently?”

Murdoc closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the warmth of his lover’s body, the safe feeling of being held by someone he trusted, the words spoken by the only person he’d ever truly loved in life, and in that moment, he felt at peace.

“I think it’s been an hour or so since you’ve said that, actually.”

“Oh no, that’s a mistake on my end then. I’ll say it again then, to make up for that hour. I love you.”

“I know,” he answered. “And I love you too. Now why don’t you tell me a story.”

“Hmm.” Stu hummed and Murdoc pressed back into the feeling of the younger man’s chest vibrating. “Okay. Did I ever tell you about the time I wanked off to a video of Damon Albarn when I was high and then couldn’t look him in the eye the next day when he had a meeting with him?”

“You wanked off to Albarn?! You definitely never told me about this!”

“Okay, well before I go into details, you gotta promise not to ever breathe a word of this to him, deal?”

“My lips are sealed,” Murdoc promised, one hand clasping the hand the singer had resting over his hip.

“So then. This was way back in the beginning of Gorillaz right? And we’d just signed a contract with Damon to launch our first album. So one day I was watching some of Blur’s music videos and smoking a lot of pot. And the next thing I knew…”


	4. Cyborg 2D Au

Day 4-Cyborg 2D AU

Things had been relatively peaceful on Plastic Beach.

As peaceful as things could ever be when the Black Cloud were constantly dropping bombs on the tiny mass of rubbish floating in the middle of the ocean.

After a few good recording sessions and some drunken heart-to-hearts, Murdoc and Stuart had settled into fairly good terms in spite of their situation, and the bassist had agreed to let the singer wander through their temporary home while they recorded the remainder of the album. No longer confined to just his downstairs dungeon of a bedroom, the younger man was happy to be allowed to make his way into the kitchen anytime he fancied a cup of tea and some crackers, or to scour the shores of the island, gathering debris and bringing it back inside to craft to his liking.

One morning however, Murdoc realized that he hadn’t seen the young man in quite some time. Plastic Beach was small; they were always running into one another.

Murdoc stalked up and down the shores of the island, then searched the recording studio, the kitchen, and the recreation room, growing more frantic with every rounded corner that failed to reveal his bluebird.

“Cyborg!” he barked.

Cyborg Noodle appeared behind him almost at once since it was never that far from him. Wordlessly, it stepped forward, green eyes blank and awaiting an order.

“Find the dullard,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Tell him I’m looking for him.”

It nodded and took off, boots clicking down the narrow linoleum-lined hallway. A pang of dread hit his stomach when he realized that the guitarist was starting with the lowest floor where several submarines were waiting in case an emergency escape was necessary.

Stuart wouldn’t try to leave him, would he?

As that fear struck him, another, even sharper one hit.

No. There was no way.

Heading in the opposite direction of Cyborg, he raced to the highest level of the building, to the storage unit. There was a ladder there that led out to the roof. If Stuart had been wandering around looking for something to do, it would certainly have seemed like a nice opportunity to clamber up onto the roof and take in the vista up top.

But if he had looked to the left on his way up the stairs, he would have noticed some of the retired contraptions Murdoc had built in his time alone on the island.

He knew as soon as he entered the storage unit that his worst fear—far worse than Cyborg Noodle coming across a missing submarine pod—had been actualized.

“Murdoc,”

Stuart’s voice was soft. So soft, and so lacking in any emotion.

He didn’t turn to face the bassist when he entered the room. He knew by the click of his heels that it was Murdoc who stood behind him.

“There you are,” the older man said, doing his best to sound annoyed. “Been looking for you all morning. Maybe don’t just up and disappear without warning, eh?”

“Murdoc,” he repeated. “What the fuck is this?”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He knew the singer could hear it; his breathing was so loud due to his ugly busted cartilage. He took a step closer to Stuart, who held a hand up, indicating that the older man was not to come any closer.

“Answer me, Murdoc.”

“Mate, come on now. You got over the one I made of her, I don’t see why—”

“You were going to replace me with a fucking robot?” Stuart rounded on him then, his eyes white and his thick brows knitted together in a fury the bassist had never seen in their years of friendship. His voice cracked on the last word, and he pointed to the cyborg hanging by a few wires against the wall, a cyborg that bore an uncanny resemblance to him.

“Dents, calm down.”

“Sorry, who were you talking to? Me, or him?” He spun around to look again at the cyborg 2D. It resembled a younger Stuart, more like he had looked during their first album, with darker hair, its face still smooth and devoid of age lines. Its eyes were closed, and if you looked only at its face, you might think it was a young man asleep. But a huge wire came out of its chest and connected to a computer monitor nearby. Several dozen smaller wires stuck out of its back and limbs. The cyborg was nude save for a pair of black shorts, almost like its order of business upon waking would be to go down to the beach and relax in the sunshine. But sections of its skin were missing, alabaster panels pulled back to reveal hardware and more wires coiled tightly together.

With a trembling finger, Stuart reached out and touched the cheek of his robot rendition, jumping slightly when his finger connected to the smooth, cool material that was harder than flesh but softer than plastic. The cyborg did not respond.

“It’s not plugged in,” Murdoc said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It can’t hear or feel or see you.”

“Great, so why the fuck did you build it then?” he demanded, hesitantly stepping away from the machine so he could stare down his bandmate instead. Again, Murdoc hesitated, not sure how to begin to justify his behavior, and the singer surprised him when he grabbed the front of his sweater and shook him roughly. “Answer me!”

“Because I missed you, okay?”

Not the right answer. Stuart only sneered. “So you thought you’d make a robot slave of me to order around, same as you did with Noodle after you killed her?”

“I didn’t kill her you twat, so stop saying that,” Murdoc snarled, shoving the taller man’s hands off of his sweater, and now he was raising his voice too, and they were both yelling in the dark, musty room. “I didn’t kill her, and I only built Cyborg Noo—the cyborg of her because I needed a guitarist. The Black Clouds had just zeroed in on my location, so I also needed protection. We’ve been over this. I’m not trying to replace her.” No matter how many times he explained it, he never felt any less filthy for having built that blasted thing.

Stuart looked again at the cyborg, pinned up against the wall by wires like some sort of futuristic Christ on a cross. “Well I was alive and you knew that, so why the cyborg of me?”

“Because I didn’t know where you were at the time, I was searching for you.”

“And even though you knew I was alive, you were gonna replace me, huh? Can that thing sing? Can it?”

Murdoc pointed to a second monitor tipped onto its side near the robot. “That,” he said. “That has copies of every song we’ve ever recorded with your vocals. Interviews too. I was gonna program them all into it so it could sing like you. Didn’t get around to it though before I found your location in Lebanon. I don’t know if I could have handled hearing it sing with your voice—” he shook his head, at a loss for words.

“Well if you didn’t want an imitation, then why did you build it?” the singer refused to let the topic drop, and his anger was clearly not subsiding either, though it had clearly hurt him to learn that its intended purpose was indeed to replace him.

“What do you want me to say, faceache? I missed you okay?”

“Murdoc, that’s fucking demented to say that you built a robot of me to replace me just because you missed me!”

“Well I think it’s demented to leave your friend all alone and fuck off to Beirut, so agree to disagree, how’s that?”

“Not the same thing,” he answered. “You never told me the full story of what was going on. One day, everything’s going fine, the next day, Noodle is fucking dead and Russel has taken off and I just needed to clear my head for a bit, I was so messed up and depressed and you never helped me in the past when I was depressed. I needed some time alone. Clearly, you didn’t though, since you just kept building a band without me.”

“I made this out of desperation, Dee!” Murdoc groaned. “Don’t you get that? This thing was just something for me to obsess over while I searched for you, something to keep my hope going that you were out there, somewhere, that the Black Clouds hadn’t gotten you too. This thing,” he motioned to the cyborg, “it was my only way to stay sane alone here, thinking about the real you.”

“What is wrong with you? Why were you so obsessed with finding me and bringing me here to this hell?” the younger man demanded.

“Because I fucking love you!” Murdoc shouted, regretting the admission instantly.

Stuart’s jaw dropped and his hands flew up to his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes, scratching his cheek, anything to keep his fingers busy as adrenaline pumped through him.

“Really, Murdoc? This is where you finally say it to me?”

“Shit, I didn’t mean that. Forget I said anything! Just forget it!” he tried looking at the floor, at the ceiling, anything but the pain on Stuart’s face.

“All the years I poured into helping you sort your life out, and this is how you finally say it to me,” he hissed, pushing past Murdoc and heading for the door.

“Stu, please, wait!” he begged. “Let me explain, I’ll start over, I explain everything…” he lowered his voice, relieved when the younger man stopped right before crossing the threshold of the door and turned around, heading back in.

He walked right past Murdoc and over to the cyborg, which he grabbed by the shoulders and yanked out from the wall with all his might.

A dozen or so wires snapped instantly; others squeaked as they were yanked out of sockets and hard drives set up along the robot’s feet. Murdoc watched in silence as the singer grabbed the wire that fed right into the cyborg’s chest and pulled it out hard and fast. With a sickening pop, the wire snapped out of the robot’s heart, and Stuart let his doppelganger drop to the floor with a heavy thud. He rounded on Murdoc, wire still in his hand.

Murdoc flinched, waiting for the cable to be whipped against his head. The blow never came, and when he opened his eyes, he found tears streaming down the younger man’s face.

“I’ve tried,” the singer whispered. “I’ve tried so damn hard to love you. Why do you make it so impossible?” he dropped the wire and rushed out of the room.

For a while, Murdoc just stood there. Slowly, he strode over to the fallen cyborg and picked it up so it wasn’t lying face-down. Gingerly, he brushed the gossamer-soft hair out of its face.

He sat there for a long time, thinking.


	5. Favorite Phase

Day 5-Favorite Phase

(it’s a toss-up between Phase 1 and 2, so here’s Phase 1: Events leading up to Murdoc acquiring his cape)

 **Adramelech demands blood. Adramelech must have blood**. A haunting whisper that somehow sounded like the combined voices of a hundred-strong chorus rang through 2D’s ears. Nervously, he tapped his index fingers together, continuing to descend the winding cellar steps that led to the very deepest pits of Kong Studios.

He hadn’t seen Murdoc all day, and he had a very bad feeling. Ordinarily, the bassist would seek him out; even though Murdoc did little more than complain that 2D was a “faceache” and a “dullard,” it didn’t stop him from wanting to spend nearly all of their free time together in their new home.

Not that 2D minded. On the contrary, any second that he could spend with the man who’d pulled him out of his coma and launched him into stardom was well with it. It also didn’t hurt that Murdoc had this small, bemused smile he tended to give the singer that sent shivers down his spine. Or that his raspy chuckle echoed through 2D’s ears when he lay alone in bed at night. No, it was most certainly not a crush that he had on the wildly intelligent bassist of the band. He just liked Murdoc’s charisma, that was all.

**Adramelech demands blood.**

Unfortunately, Murdoc had an array of bad habits that tended to get in the way of 2D’s efforts to spend time with him. Granted, he had kicked the speed addiction before Russel and Noodle joined the band and they found success. That had been ugly. But he was still an alcoholic, however many flowery adjectives he threw around to soften the word. He also had that tendency to read creepy books written in Latin, with spooky pictures drawn all over them. His interest in the Dark Arts weirded 2D out at first, but when creepy things started to happen around Kong, he became downright scared.

More than once, he’d entered Murdoc’s Winnebago to find the man unconscious, surrounded by empty beer bottles and melted candles, spell books (or were they witches’ diaries? Haunted encyclopedias?) spread around him as though he had been working himself into a frenzy trying to unlock some inner secrets within the texts.

The singer had also seen things—bats, ravens, the occasional pair of tapetum eyes glimmering at him from dark corners of the house. Sometimes he heard whispering voices near him, only to round corners and find himself alone.

2D hated what a scaredy cat he was, and he knew he was easy to frighten. Yet somehow, knowing that Murdoc was behind the creepy shit happening made it less scary for him. So what if there were ravens watching him and bizarre concentric circles carved into some furniture? If it made the eccentric bassist happy, then he was glad to see Murdoc expressing himself. He couldn’t help but worry that this strange gut instinct telling him to descend Kong would lead him to something bad. And he knew that if there was trouble, Murdoc would be right in the center of it.

**Adramelech de—**

“Yeah yeah with your bloody demands,” the singer muttered, unsure whether or not the voices were real or inside his head. Either way, they were annoying and creepy, and he just wanted to find Murdoc, wherever the man was holding his little séance, and go back upstairs where it wasn’t so musty and dark.

As he turned and descended yet another flight of stone steps, he saw a soft, flickering light up ahead, and quickened his pace.

“Hey, Muds?” he called. “That you? I was wondering if you wanted to watch some movies with me if you’re not busy? It’s cold down here. Muds?”

His damaged eyes gradually adjusted to the candlelight, and as he passed a stone wall and entered (what he assumed to be) the lowest level of Kong, he found the man he had been looking for.

Murdoc lay on his back in the center of a ring of shapes, mostly circles but with violent slashes drawn through them. The shapes were drawn on the dirt floor in blood, that much was obvious. Whether or not it was human blood, 2D didn’t want to know. Near the bassist’s head, a small, contained fire burned. There was some sort of animal skin tossed in, and the branches of several different types of herb. Around the fire were dozens of candles as well.

More alarming than the display was Murdoc himself: his back arched up slightly but his head tilted back, his eyes rolled back in his head. His olive skin was pale and damp with sweat, and he shook slightly, the upside-down cross he always wore around his neck gleaming in the light of the fire. He was muttering in a language that 2D couldn’t even begin to guess at—he’d heard Murdoc say things in Latin, but this wasn’t like that. These words sounded somehow more…primitive. Guttural. Threatening.

The voice that 2D had heard was back, chanting louder and more insistently than ever.

**Adramelech demands blood. Adramelech must have blood, must have blood, musthaveblood—**

Murdoc’s left hand shot out and seized a knife—it was not from the kitchen upstairs. It looked like it was carved from bone.

2D realized what was about to happen, and forgetting any fear or forbearance, rushed forward.

“Murdoc! No!”

The bassist lifted the knife up, perpendicular to his prone, shaking body. His fingers moved deftly, positioning the blade so that it faced down, directly over his throat. His thin lips continued to move over the words of some ancient script.

**Must have blood, must have blood—**

2D raced over, intending to grab the knife from his friend’s hand, but he tripped a few feet before reaching the sacrificial zone.

He yelped as his feet came out from underneath him and momentum continued to hurl him forward. He landed head-first right into Murdoc’s gut.

“Oof!” Murdoc grunted, dropping the knife and wincing as the man fell right on top of him. 2D wasn’t especially heavy, but to be slammed by six feet two inches of bony keyboardist was never a pleasant experience. Drawing his knees up as best he could with his bandmate sprawled over him, Murdoc blinked a few times, mis-matched eyes gleaming in the firelight.

“What the hell, faceache?”

“Murdoc, you’re okay!” 2D sat up, untangling himself from the older man, and instantly hugging him tight. “I thought I was too late!”

“What are you doing? I was trying to get some fashion advice here!”

The younger man pulled back. “Wait, huh?”

“I was trying to summon Adramelech; he’s a personal stylist for the big man himself!”

“What big man?”

“Satan, you idiot! Really, Dents, what is wrong with you?” Murdoc sat up, brushing dirt off his black shirt and rolling his eyes. “I wanted to consult him to make sure I look the part of the genius rock legend that I am.”

“Muds, I came down looking for you and you were in some sort of trance,” the singer tried to explain. “There were these creepy voices demanding blood, and you were shaking on the floor. You grabbed a knife and you were gonna stab yourself! Don’t you remember?”

Murdoc looked at him dubiously. “No. I remember reciting the incantation, and then I remember you on top of me…” Slowly, understanding dawned on him and he began to laugh. “That clever old prick! He was trying to kill me. Adramelech loves human sacrifice.”

The singer wrung his hands. “Muds, how can you be laughing?! He almost killed you! He’s not here in this room, is he?” He looked around, eyes going white with terror.

“’Course not,” the older man snorted. “The sacrifice wasn’t complete and I couldn’t summon him. You interrupted when you tripped and fell on me, you klutz.”

The singer sighed in relief, standing up. “Good. I don’t like the idea of you summoning demons here to give you fashion advice. You want to look cool? Just ask me and Russ for advice next time.”

Murdoc followed his lead, standing and stomping out the fire he had lit, closing the spell books as well while the younger man blew out the candles. He sniffed. “I don’t want to look like a total slag, but thanks for the offer.” Once he had kicked enough dirt over the eerie sketches on the ground, he turned to his companion.

“What brought you down here, anyway?”

“I was looking for you,” 2D felt his face flush slightly. “I uh, I wanted to ask if you wanted to maybe watch some zombie flicks with me or something. Dunno, just, if you’re not busy. Might be fun.”

“Think I’ve had my fill of spooky for today,” he answered dryly.

“Oh,” the singer tried not to look too disappointed.

“But I could go for a smoke. Wanna take a spin in the Geep? See what beautiful Essex has to offer us on this fine day?”

2D perked up instantly, nodding. “I’d really like that, yeah.”

“Well okay then, let’s go,” Murdoc said, placing a hand on the small of his friend’s back and guiding him back towards the stairs. But first, he spat a mouthful of phlegm at the remains of his almost-summoning. “Tosser,” he muttered.


	6. Murdoc's Birthday

Day 6-Murdoc’s Birthday

(I have been planning this one for days!! <3)

2D looked out the window of the train, taking in the serene blur of greenery and small houses they were rumbling past. Beside him, Murdoc could not sit still, bouncing his leg, leaning in to nuzzle against his boyfriend, then pulling back to check his phone and mutter at comments on Twitter. His excitement was palpable.

 

“The next stop on this train will be Three Bridges,” the voice on the overhead announced, and Murdoc laughed. 

“We stopping by your place for my birthday, mate?”

 

“Yes,” he responded cheerily, beginning to collect his water bottle, backpack, the paperbacks he’d been reading, and his phone.

 

“So what’s my gift then? We gonna have a romp in your childhood bed? That wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

The singer made a face. “Don’t be gross, Muds. No.” He patted his boyfriend’s arm, indicating that they should get up and head towards the doors as the train stopped at Three Bridges, announcing that Crawley would be next.

 

“Wait, we seriously are going to Crawley? This ain’t a joke?”

 

“I was being serious. I have something nice planned,” he said. “Promise.”

 

In the past, Murdoc might have whinged and complained that a quiet borough was no place for him to celebrate his birthday. But he trusted Stu, and after years of paparazzi, drama, pirates and prison sentences, he had no problem spending a quiet day in the country with his boyfriend.

 

A few minutes later, they departed the train and found a taxi waiting for them.

 

“Your dad can’t pick us up?”

 

“We’re not going to my house,” the younger man responded.

 

Again, Murdoc became fidgety as the taxi took them through winding, dull roads that the bassist scarcely recognized. He reached for Stu’s hand, recoiling briefly at the feeling of bandages. Having recently taken a fall in his characteristic clumsiness, he had several bandages wrapped around his palm and every finger but his index and thumb. Feeling the bassist flinch away at the touch, Stu smiled and interlaced their fingers, laying his head atop Murdoc’s.

“We have a ways to go. Relax and enjoy the ride, you’re going to like this.”

 

“Fine I’ll simmer down. Just excited to see what you have in mind. We’re losing daylight at this point.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kissing the thick black hair he was nuzzled against. “So, you feel any older?”

 

Murdoc snorted. “Older? No. I never feel any older, bluebird. In spirit, I’ll forever be living the glory days of the young, wild and free. Ready to party and take every bloody thing that this green earth has to offer me. I do feel a little…different though.”

 

The singer had closed his eyes, allowing Murdoc’s low voice to soothe him as they drove though his childhood stomping grounds. “Different can be good. Different how?”

 

“More at peace, maybe? If that’s possible for me.” He shrugged. “I used to always feel like I had this chip on my shoulder. My fucking dad, maybe. Or the way I was drinking myself to death-”

 

“Still are.”

 

“Less than before though! I don’t know. I just feel like even when we were on the top of the world, I always had this cloud hanging over me. I wasn’t happy. But lately, things just seem to work out. Things are good with the band, the fans still love us. You still love me.”

 

“When you’re not being a ponce.”

 

The bassist pulled away from the signer. “Har, har. I’m serious though. It’s kind of weird, to be honest.”

 

He chuckled and touched the golden cross that still dangled from his lover’s neck. “Murdoc, it’s not weird to feel happy and at peace in life. I think that’s something to aspire to.”

 

“Right, theoretically.”

 

“Only theoretically?”

 

“Well I’m no spring chicken, but I’m not exactly stumbling into a grave either. If I’ve got shit figured out now, then what is there to do for the next couple of decades? Am I just going to settle into a dumb state of complacency for the remainder of my time?”

 

The keyboardist shot a quick text on his phone. “Well, maybe you can spend the rest of your time aspiring to make the most of every day with the people you love most. If things are good with Russ and Noods, then let’s make sure we’re making the best music we’ve ever recorded since we’re not being distracted by fears and struggles. Things are good with you and me–so let’s try to make the best memories possible. See this as a challenge to never regret a damn thing.”

 

“You’re right,” Murdoc looked out the window, and the setting sun struck his eyes, illuminating the warm brown of his left eye and the blood-red of his right eye. “You can be pretty clever when you want to be.”

“We’re almost here,” Stu said, perking up a bit as his phone buzzed against his thigh.

 

Murdoc looked out the window. “Hey, isn’t this your dad’s fairground? Bet it draws quite the crowd on a nice summer night.”

 

“Usually it does, yeah. Only I asked my dad to close it off to the public for the night,” the younger man said as the taxi pulled up in front of the main entrance and came to a stop. “Happy birthday, Murdoc.”

 

The bassist looked at his boyfriend in disbelief, following his lead and climbing out of the car. Sure enough, the fairgrounds were totally empty, but everything was on, bright lights twinkling in the light of the pink sunset. Murdoc realized that some employees had to be operating the place; he could smell popcorn and candy floss.

 

“Your dad must be losing out on a lot of business closing the place up, no?”

Stu shrugged. “His son is a rockstar. You think he cares about one night? So,” he held out his hand. “Shall we?”

 

It was the single most romantic, sappy thing anyone had ever done for him. He beamed and took Stu’s hand.

 

The next few hours were a blur of music, dancing, and rides. They chased each other around the carousel, hopping over horses and nearly falling of the machine from laughter. They raced down the Giant Slide a dozen times, and rode the Big Swing a dozen more. All the while, a few workers made sure they had all the snacks and beer they could ask for.

 

“You remember Ethan, right?” Stu asked at one point as a pimply teen with greasy hair dangling out from under a beanie handed them candy floss. “We’ve signed lots of merch for him. He’s a big fan. Think you’ve met a few times.”

 

“Sure have,” said the kid, breaking into a huge smile. 

 

“Yes, great to see you again Ethan,” Murdoc bluffed, “you’re looking well. Acne has really begun to clear up, eh?”

 

“It has! Thanks for noticing!”

 

“Hey Ethan, I’m gonna take Muds up on the Star Climber. I’ll text you when we’re ready to come down, alright?”

 

“You’ve got it 2D,” the kid chirped. “Enjoy! And Murdoc…happy birthday.”

 

“Thanks, lad,” the bassist responded, more touched than he would care to admit.

 

“Don’t be a jerk,” the singer reprimanded in a whisper as they headed over to the largest and most regal attraction at the park: a huge ferris wheel. “Talking about his acne? Really?”

 

“He said it’s gotten better,” Murdoc quipped. “So maybe you’re the jerk for judging him for it. Now,” he smacked his boyfriend’s ass playfully. “You gonna kiss me on top of the ferris wheel, you romantic sap you?”

 

“I sure hope to,” Stu admitted, cheeks turning red. “Now get on already, don’t give Ethan a show.”

 

Cackling, he obeyed and they climbed into the booth, cheering like children when the music started and the machine began to carry them skyward.

 

“I can see now why you were so fond of this place growing up,” admitted the bassist as the breathtaking view expanded the higher they went. “I always thought fairs were just places that smelled like fried shite and gave you infections from touching the bars on the rides. This is actually quite nice, quite nice.”

 

The sun was just sinking beyond the horizon, and the sky went from pink and orange to deep purple. The ferris wheel gleamed all yellow and gold and magenta, its lights illuminating their skin and eyes.

 

“It is,” the singer agreed. “Lovely view.”

 

“Absolutely,” Murdoc said, smiling cheekily at the singer. “You have that effect on places.”

 

Wordlessly, he pulled Murdoc in for a kiss. It quickly escalated from soft to playful to passionate, and Stu moaned as Murdoc’s tongue twined with his while the bassist’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, holding him in a possessive embrace.

 

“Hey,” Stu forced himself to pull away, his hands holding Murdoc’s face gently. “Happy birthday, luv.”

 

“Thanks for making it so happy.”

 

“What can I say? You’ve gone out of your way the past few years to make this relationship work.”

 

“Stu,” Murdoc kissed each of the fingertips pressed against either side of his face. “You’re worth it. After I almost lost you after all that shit on Plastic Beach, I hope you realize how hard I’ve been trying for you. Changing for you.”

 

“I know, and it’s meant the world to me. I have noticed. Hey, you know how earlier you were asking what you have to look forward to for the rest of your life?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Smiling, Stu drew back and began to remove the bandages from his left hand.

“Oi! What the hell are you doing? You’re gonna get infected!”

 

“I never scraped my hand, dummy,” he laughed. “Needed to keep these out of your sight before the big day.” Shoving the bandages into his back pocket, he placed his left hand against Murdoc’s right, their fingertips and palms touching softly. “Look, Murdoc. I know you’re not interested in marriage and neither am I. But I do like some of the ideas of commitment. So hey, take a look at my compromise.”

 

He pointed to his ring finger, and Murdoc’s heart skipped a beat.

 

It wasn’t a ring.

 

Stu had gotten a tattoo along the inner side of his ring finger. It was small: a neat little MN written in script.

 

“You could get one too if you like, so we could match. If not, that’s totally fine too,” the younger man said. “I know you’re not comfortable with us coming out publicly at this point, and even if you never want us out, that’s fine. But this is a nice little way to know right out in public I’m declaring myself bound to you. I’m yours and only yours, and I don’t ever want to change that.”

 

“This is…oh wow, Stu.”

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“Of course!” he insisted, finally breaking his eyes away from his lover’s hand to look into his black eyes. “This gesture is so thoughtful, and everything it stands for is just. Christ. Of course I’ll get your initials on my hand too!”

 

Stu kissed him softly. “Good. I know our relationship isn’t perfect. There’s a lot we need to work on, and a lot you need to continue to change. But I see you trying and I want to stick around and keep this going the rest of our lives, Murdoc.”

 

They intertwined their fingers again, Stu’s hands pale and slender, Murdoc’s dark and calloused, his nails painted black. 

 

“Y'know what, mate? This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

 

“Good,” the singer said, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders and looking down at the twinkling lights of the fairgrounds. “It’s not over yet.”

 

“No,” Murdoc agreed. “But I think I’d like to stay here just a little longer if that’s okay with you.” He settled against the warmth of Stu’s body.

 

“I’d like that, Muds. I’d really like that a lot.”


	7. Favorite Gorillaz Song-O Green World

Day 7-Favorite Gorillaz Song (O Green World)

(Final day! I made it! And I got TOTALLY BURNED OUT AS YOU CAN SO CLEARLY TELL. SORRY.)

Stu was wrapped up in Murdoc’s luxurious red and purple cape, giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Can you get the clasp for me Muds?” he asked, exhaling the smoke from his most recent toke all over his boyfriend’s face.

Murdoc smirked and nodded, leaning in. Stu still suffered some fine motor issues due to his head trauma, and though it improved when he went to physical and occupational therapy regularly like his mother recommended, he often skipped those boring appointments to spend time with his favorite bass slayer instead. After all, who needed to be able to tie shoelaces and clasp brooches when he could still play keyboards and kick arse at video games?

The bassist leaned in, so close that Stu could smell the beer on his breath and see the individual hairs of his stubbly upper lip. Wordlessly, he secured the skull-shaped clasp that held the cape together around the shoulders, nodding in approval.

“You don’t look half bad, bluebird.”

The younger man passed the joint over to his boyfriend and struck a few poses theatrically, loving the sensation of the satin fabric, the way it smelled of Murdoc’s sweat and Lucky Lungs, the way the collar came up around his neck. He was also pretty fond of watching the older man lying across his bed, shirtless and smoking. Images of Murdoc fucking him wearing only the cape danced through his head, and he reached out for his lover, struggling to find the seductive words to initiate such activities in his stoned state.

Just before his gangly arms could secure themselves around his amused boyfriend, Murdoc’s phone began to ring, Black Sabbath’s "War Pigs" killing the moment.

“Just a tick, pet,” the older man said, looking at his flip phone curiously. “Don’t recognize the number. Maybe it’s Shaun Ryder’s agent finally getting back to me! I’ve been waiting for that clod to return my voicemails. Yes, hello, this is Murdoc Niccals, bass player for Gorillaz.”

The younger man couldn’t make out what the person on the other line was saying, but he knew it couldn’t be good, because Murdoc’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs, and the corners of his mouth shot down from their signature smirk into a look reminiscent of someone about to vomit.

“How the hell did you get this number?” He asked, and was then interrupted again, which made him pinch the bridge of his nose and start pacing the bedroom.

Stu leaned over and turned down the music they were listening to, a demo of “O Green World” they had recorded earlier and had been tasked with finalizing…until they’d busted out their weed supply and gotten distracted.

“No! No I don’t want to see you. You’re not getting a fucking pence off of me!

Oh god. It couldn’t be. Sighing, Stu sat on the edge of the bed, bracing himself for the onslaught of emotion coming next.

“Don’t ever call this number again, you hear me? You leave me the fuck alone you sodding creep!”

Murdoc didn’t bother flipping his phone shut. He threw it against his wall with a speed and violence that made the singer flinch. It shattered into two pieces, one of which bounced under the bed. The bassist stood there a moment, panting. He would have looked sexy, standing there in only his tight black jeans and Cuban heels, his muscles taut with stress. But his eyes were fierce.

“Murdoc?” the younger man finally found the bravery to speak. “Was that him?”

“I can’t believe that fucker managed to get my number!” he snarled. “He had the nerve to offer to come here, pay me a visit, and while we’re at it, he wanted some money to cash in on my success.”

“Your dad is unbelievable,” he forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “He’ll do anything for money, huh? What a clown.”

The older man growled. “He’s an animal. I can’t believe he’s still trying to take advantage of me even now. That fucking monster!” he accentuated his point by grabbing one of his empty beer bottles and throwing that against the wall as well.

Stu winced when it shattered. “Hey now, Muds. Come on, no need to make a mess,” he started.

The older man turned on him. “Oh shut it, dullard! You have no idea what I’m feeling right now. Get off your soapbox, and while you’re at it, give me back my bloody cape too.”

Hurt, he looked down at the clasp that his lover had secured only minutes earlier in a calm state that now felt lifetimes away. “But…you said I looked good in it.” He hated how quick he tended to get emotional, especially when it was Murdoc hurling insults at him. No matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to have the words to stand up for himself; all he could do was back down as the bassist reared up in anger.

Seeing the pain in the younger man’s face, Murdoc groaned and tugged at his hair. “Mate, please don’t get all teary-eyed on me. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just…angry. And…scared.”

That was not a word he was expecting. “Scared?”

“When I hear that man’s voice, I’m a fuckin’ kid all over again. I can feel him standing over me, so much taller and stronger than me. It’s like I can never escape from him. No matter how old I get, how much I distance myself, I just,” he clenched his fists. “Useless. I always fall right back down to the pit I started from.

“That’s not true,” he argued. “You’re a rock star now mate, a music legend. You’re so much greater than him.” More than anything, the singer wanted to get up and hug his boyfriend. But having just seen so much raw adrenaline pumping through him, he figured it was safer to keep a slight distance for the time being. “I believe in you, Muds. That counts for something, right?”

The dark-haired man was silent for a very long time, glaring down at his boots. “I don’t deserve the credence you give me. You give me so much credit.”

One day, Stu would learn to break down the walls the bassist built up. He wouldn’t shy away from these conversations, and would keep pushing the older man to open up. Why don’t you think you deserve the credit I give you? What else did your dad say to you? Do you want me to help find who gave him your phone number so we can have them fired? “Why don’t we get back to what we were doing?”

And one day, after many fights and tears and breakups, Murdoc would learn to lean into the younger man and accept his support. But today was not that day. Murdoc nodded. “Yeah. Gotta get our final remarks in to Noods. And later we can buy me a new phone. I have been eyeing that one Motorola. The sleek silver one.”

“Sure, Muds.” He turned the song back on to the sound of his own voice: his dreamy falsetto rising over the electropop that Russel had helped them mix.

_But now you’re in love, you know_

_You know me too,_

_You know me too,_

“I hope sex and drugs rust into my self, holy, it feels holy,” Stu finished the final part of the song, and to his surprise, Murdoc bent down and picked up half of the phone he’d shattered, whispering the final haunting line Noodle had written:

_It feels like you’re with your father in the place you love._


End file.
